


By the fire light

by ShadeDuelist



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, FemFortress 2, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/pseuds/ShadeDuelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Fem!Engie x Male!Pyro in case you were wondering)</p>
<p>Delia Conagher has her off days, days on which nobody dares talk to her.  Why?  She has a secret that she doesn't want anyone to find out about.<br/>But this day is different.  A fight with their demolass makes Delia extra high-strung, and when she's disappeared from her room, their team's Pyro offers to go looking for her.  And, well, he certainly does find her.</p>
<p>Art by the incomparable <a href="http://docteurfail.tumblr.com">docteurfail</a>, check them out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the fire light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadeDuelist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/gifts).



Most of the team knew when their engineer was in a bad mood. It was clear to see in her shoulders, which tensed just a little more than usual when they fought; it was clear to hear in her voice as she taunted spies to ‘try an’ touch mah machines, ah _dare_ yew, yeh snakes!’. It was clear to feel even in her admittedly warm pats on the shoulders after a match well fought. It was clear to notice, and it was certainly foolish to bring up. The last one foolish enough to bring up the subject, Scout, had quickly learnt not to question the Texas-born woman’s shaking hands, let alone do so _loudly_ and _in front of their fellow team members_. She claimed her hands had never been the same again after having been forced to disassemble, clean, and reassemble _all_ of Delia Conagher’s guns - her Frontier Justice, her Strange Pistol, her sentry’s complicated twin-barreled machine gun…

Usually, the engineer’s bad mood evaporated overnight. Whatever the Texan woman did to unwind - something that had become the subject of many, many rumors - it worked. She left the others for an early night, and then, by morning, she stood in the dining room making pancakes for the entire team, or she had cleaned the living room while the rest showered, and she awaited the rest of the team’s arrival with a flawless smile on her face. By now, the rest of the team had gotten so used to the reward they got for not questioning Delia’s methods of relaxation that they’d learnt to not even _think_ about it anymore. Either they became good at forgetting about it, or they grew to ignore the telltale signs.

Though that became difficult when, one night, Delia’s hands shook so badly that she dropped one of the dishes she’d been washing and the thing shattered on the tile floor of the kitchen with a clatter loud enough to wake the dead.

“Ach, lass, yeh’re nae good t’day, y’are - git yeh off t’yoor bed now!”, the demolass said, waving her hand somewhat impatiently in front of her face. Normally, anyone that wanted to argue with Tashya when she was sober thought twice about it, because the Scottish woman was quick-witted and sharp-tongued when not liquored up. But Delia’s bad temper forewent her own sharp mind and she snapped back.

“What are yew talkin’ about, sweet-cheeks, ah ain’t ‘no good t’day’, ah’m just ‘s fine as yew are - as all’a y’all are.” A hush fell over the dining room - Jane and Mika had been sitting there, playing a game of cards, and Sue had been watching a Red Sox game and cheering softly for her fave team - as Tashya snorted.

“Yeh’re off yer head, lass - yeh burnt the carrots, overcooked the meat, an’ then yeh decide to wake the bleedin’ dead with yer noise! D’ye no ken yerself, lass? Git y’off to yoor bed-”

“Now yew listen here, Taysh’, sweetheart…”, Delia interrupted the other woman, her voice dangerously soft and sweet but with an undertone of violence sure to come, “...here’s how this is gon’ go now. Yeh’re gon’ keep washin’ them dishes an’ ah’m gon’ clean up this ‘ere mess ah made an’ then ah’m gon’ dry the rest’a them off like ah’m s’posed tuh. An’ y’ain’t gonna say _nuthin’_ about it, awright? How ah’m feelin’ an’ what ah shouldn’t do or should ain’t none’a yer business.” She glared at the Scottish woman, who stood half a head taller than her, clearly challenging her to disagree - and Tashya responded to it with a restrained huff and a drop of the dishrag into the soapy water.

“If yoo don’t git yer stoot legs movin’ out of this kitchen, Daeliah Cawnaghair, yeh bleedin’ numpty, I’ll run y’off to yer bed me damn self! Now _move_ , daft woman!” Before anyone knew what was happening, Delia - usually so calm and reserved around the rest of the mercenaries - had Tashya in a headlock, punching her wherever her free fist could land, and was loudly telling her what for in between half-pained, half-enraged shouts from the black woman aimed at her attacker, along with some punches of her own. That was the last straw for Mika, and the Heavy Weapons Gal rose from her chair, deciding that enough was enough. With ten mighty steps, she stood beside the two and she pulled them apart with ease. Holding Delia by the wrist and Tashya by the shoulder, putting her bulk between the two women so they couldn’t keep hitting each other.

“Tiny baby women behave like children! Leetle engineer should not be upset if team mates see how bad she does - you are not fool, you _know_ this. Rest, my friend. Take early night, like you always do when you are like this. And you, Tashya, you know Delia does not like talk about this. Be bigger woman now, return to wash dishes. I will take Delitska to her room, make sure she does not drop _herself_ next.”

“Mika, if’n yew don’t-”, Delia started, clearly still hyped up on adrenalin and as belligerent as before, but the Heavy wasn’t accepting any of it.

“ _Vedut sebya_ , drug moy, inache ya _nokautiruyu tebya_.”, she said in a tone that signaled her patience running out, and Delia backed down. Turning to Tashya, who still glared daggers at the Texan woman, she shook her head and added: “Both of you, behave. Dzheyn?”, she called to the soldier, who rose from her chair and nodded.

“Yeah, private?”

“Keep Tashya company, make sure she does not break dishes-”

“Consider it done!”, Jane barked out before Tashya could voice her annoyance at being treated like a child, and then, in a softer and kinder voice: “C’mon, Tash’, bet you can’t keep up with my _superior_ dish-drying skills!” Delia let herself be pushed firmly away from the kitchen and down the hallway to her own room by Mika, who prompted her to open the door and enter wordlessly with as little as a nudge to the shoulder. However, before closing the door, the Texas-born woman turned to her colleague.

“...Ah still oughta lay yew out fer… fer…”

“For being friend? Net, Delitska. You have problems? You _speak_. You do not keep inside. Is not good for your heart. ...If you decide to speak, woman to woman, about this… you know where we are. All of us on team.” Then, she added in a softer tone, almost whisper-like: “...All of us worry. Even Pyro, who does not speak. Even Sue, who is only thinking of self. Do not be… afraid. Whatever your problem, we are here. We are friends, da?” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead walking off, and Delia sighed as she closed the door to her room.

Inside, the real struggle only _began_ , of course. She tried reading her ‘Engineering Guide to Sentry Maintenance’, tried making a new blueprint, tried to occupy her mind with some finetuning on some of her other inventions, tried, in the end, to _sleep_ , but she couldn’t. She could feel how tense she still was - and knowing that relief was litterally a flick of a wrist away…

“No, Delia! Don’t! Don’t yew dare…”, she berated herself. Her hands shook but she kept going, kept drawing, kept tinkering, kept picking up her book again and again… until at last, bleary-eyed and weary, the stress seemed to crash onto her like the weight of the world, crushing her, and she groaned.

“Fuck. Fuck this… gawd damn it, Delia, yeh’re weak, yew are pathetic… just… just git it over with, awright?”, she grumbled as she opened her bedroom window and snuck out of the base, running well away. If any of her colleagues saw what she did - what she _had to do_ \- to cope…

 

“Aahahahahahaaaa!” The living room area felt alive with laughter that boomed outward when the door swung open and Jane and Tashya stumbled out, both holding a beer and both looking like they’d had a fair few before that one. “Did yeh see ‘is face, the wee blaggard?”

“Did you hear him crying in the end?”, Jane retorted, snickering loudly. “Some men are nothing but big babies!! ...Anyways, yeah, let’s head over to our room, Tash’-” It was then, from the corner of her eye, that the demolass saw the end of the hallway, and the door to the engineer’s unlit workshop, and she remembered their earlier confrontation. True, Delia had been tense and irrational, but she’d been so too, and only when she’d had a few beers had she realized that she’d maybe reacted a little too harshly. So Tashya Degroot did the only thing that seemed appropriate and she sighed, waving her friend off.

“Nah, yeh go on, lass, I… that fookin’ ahful mess with Daelie earlier tooday… tha’ were a right scunner… I shoold go an’ tell the lassie ah’m blewdy sorry fer that…” Jane nodded and, testamenting her drunken state, managed to grin as she shrugged.

“Okay, Tash’, if you need me, I’ll be in my room drinking the cold one that had your name on it.”

“Aye, right - last time _yoo_ offered a pint t’anyone, Jane Doe, yeh were bleedin’ _enchanted_ by that old man in a fookin’ dress!”, the demolass said, grinning when Jane made a very rude hand gesture before blowing her a kiss and responding.

“Have fun stuttering out ‘sorry’ in Delia’s face, Wallacia - she’s going to chew you up an’ spit you out like yesterday’s oatmeal…” The black-skinned woman approached the quiet corner of the hallway with trepidation, belying her earlier rowdiness. Jane was only half joking, she knew: Delia’s mood had been spectacularly low, and so there was a real risk of her being shouted at and maybe even hit again - the bruises on the side of her ribcage felt extra stiff for a split second. Yet Tashya had to risk it: she wouldn’t be able to sleep well that night if she felt like she’d left the argument unfinished. Delia made her explosives, after all, and maintained her sticky-launcher and grenade launcher. She should be grateful - hell, she was grateful, but she should show it more often, and more clearly. It was that motivation that moved her hand as she knocked on the door softly.

“Daelia? Dellie, lass, ‘s jus’ Taeshya…” No answer came: no angry grunt, no happy greeting… not even a snore or the rustle of blankets or the creak of that old desk chair the engineer insisted on using. “...Daelia?”, Tashya tried again, a little louder, only for more silence to follow. Now the demolass was getting slightly worried. “Daelia!”, she said loudly, knocking on the door hard enough to jostle the lock audibly - and to cause the door to creak slightly, showing it wasn’t locked, which then led to her opening the door to reveal an empty room and an opened window looking out over the battlefield. “Ach, mother of…”

“Mmmmh?” The sleepy groan came from the doorway in the corner of the hallway, which led to Pyro’s room - the firestarter had their door open just a sliver, their pale and scarred face showing through the door and a shock of shoulder-length hair visible. “Wussa maffer Tassyuh?”, they mumbled.

“Ach, Pah-roo, Daelia ‘s not in her room and after how bad she was last aye soow ‘er-”, the demolass said, to which the pyro responded with a nod.

“Mmh gonna look fer Dellyuh fer yuh.” The door of the pyro’s room closed, and a minute later it opened again, revealing the firestarter in their work uniform, boots and all, without any of their weapons and without the fireproof gloves, showing their scarred hands. “‘s Thru here?”

“Aye, Pah-roo… mind tread light, yoo hear? Daelia’s right touchy-”

“Mmhmm, know her. Dnn wurry.” They walked into the engineer’s room, careful not to upset any of her stuff, and then climbed through the window, setting off onto the battlefield.

“...Ach, ‘m getting too fookin’ tired fer this… or ‘m not fookin’ drunk enough fer this...”, Tashya said, turning around and stumbling off through the hallway, wondering faintly whether she could still persuade the soldier to share another beer with her.

 

Ash swore under his breath. Delia had gone out to the battlefield, which spanned _miles and miles_ of ground. It was cold outside, the moon providing little to no light… why had the woman run off? Sure, he’d heard her argue with Tashya - it was hard _not_ to have heard that, actually - and he’d also heard the short exchange she and Mika, their Heavy, had outside her room door… and he’d heard the engineer toss and turn restlessly later… but when the noise quieted again, he’d figured she’d just gone off to sleep. It was hard for him to tell the time in the haze of medication that kept him going day and night - uppers in the morning, which made the entire battlefield glow in hues of pink and every bullet have a trail of rainbows, and downers in the evening which could probably knock out an elephant but which just made his sleep a little more restful due to the tolerance he’d built up. It _had_ been close to eleven, though… or was that when Tashya’s knocking on Delia’s door had stirred him out of his own private rêverie with Balloonicorns and lollipops and _fiery death_?

“Ahh mnnnn…”, he groaned, running a scarred hand over his face and through his ratty hair, wincing at how greasy it felt. He’d need a shower before bed, now even more so since the suit felt clammy and clingy against his mostly-bare skin. “...Awright, Delia… where are yuh…”, he muttered, deciding to head in the direction of one of the most remote corners of the battlefield: an old, disused shed that they used to battle around but that now was just a dilapidated corner of land that was a little more blown apart. Gravel cracked under his boots as he headed over there, sighing. Surely Delia would have headed back to her room by now, whatever would be her reasons for heading out here, into the cold, in her _nightwear_ , in the first place… but then, he saw an orange glow in the distance and his step hastened. He could smell gasoline and wood on the air, and smoke - thick, luscious, heady smoke, like moldy wood being burnt…

Rounding a corner, Ash spotted the _huge_ fire only fifty feet away. The remnants of the wooden shed were consumed by flames that rose high into the sky - it was a wonder that he hadn’t spotted the blaze before, he mused - and smoke coiled around those bright red flames like the flimsy garments of strippers. Ash’ heart started racing, and his breath caught in his throat. ‘Oh no, not now… not now… not with Delia sitting there- wait, what?’ He looked again, to make sure - and indeed, his team’s engineer was standing by a rock, facing away from him, looking directly into the fire and breathing in and out deeply. Her entire posture oozed calmth and even _joy_.

She had to be a pyromaniac, Ash thought, even before he spotted the can of gasoline she held or the spent pack of matches that she carefully fingered with her free hand. He could barely make out the words she whispered to herself.

“...Ain’t much more soothin’... ain’t much more _satisfyin’_... than the sight’a them flames, tearin’ down whut we built, whut we _fought over_ … gawd… but ah had tuh… ah… ah can’t stop mahself… ‘s so soothin’...”

‘Soothing’ wasn’t the word that Ash would use, he thought as he palmed himself through his thick, flame-retardant suit. ‘Exhilarating’, yes, or ‘exciting’... ‘arousing’... he bit his lip to keep in a needful groan as he realized he would never be able to run back to base, not as painfully hard as he was now. The pills he took in the daytime made sure his body didn’t respond at all to the sight of fire - if he even _saw_ the fire _at all_ anymore, because it all turned to cotton candy and lullabies somehow - but now, after he’d taken his evening supply of medication, his body was up for it. Quite literally so, even. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so damn pitiful and disgusting, he mused, idly palming himself again and backing away slowly, behind the rocks that’d hide him from sight from Delia. He couldn’t ignore his body’s loud cry for satisfaction, and running back to base wasn’t an option either.

“...Fuck, nuhh…”, he whispered under his breath, looking around. The battlefield around him was blown apart, with little to no cover - Delia would see him in a heartbeat if she went back to her room… but then, he spotted some rocks that’d hide him from sight but that would still give him a clear sight of the fire and he grinned. Quickly, he ducked over there and dropped to the ground as silently as he could before opening his suit and pulling down his boxershorts, wincing as the cold night’s air hit his erection. “Nnnhh fuck…”, he muttered, and then, as his hand closed again around his length and he looked at the fire, the way it danced sensuously, he moaned it softly. _“Ahhhhh, fuck…_ ” Fire had always been his one weakness. Even as a teenager - an early bloomer, he recalled - he’d had to shy away from candles and cancel visits to friends if they turned out to have a fireplace they wanted to light. Even the tiny flicker of someone lighting their cigarette at a party had had him rock solid at the most embarrassing of times. He supposed his mother had been right to call him a ‘freak’ and to hit him before sending him packing at the age of seventeen, after she’d found him jerking off in his room with his eyes fixed tensely on a neat row of candles on his desk. He was very conscious of his sexual connection to fire and fire-starting - hence the pills, and the frequent visits to a company psychiatrist, and the gas mask with the lenses to distort everything… but now, he was exposed. Not just physically, but emotionally. He looked again to see Delia stand in the light of the fire, her features illuminated by the orange-red glow, and he imagined that he could see her face in the flames, enraptured and sweaty. “Mmmnh yuuhhh…”, he moaned. It wasn’t a coincidence that he found himself imagining his best friend. She was pretty enough even at the age of thirty-eight: curvy and homely-looking and yet a free spirit if ever there was one. Smart women had always attracted him, come to think of it: women that could engage in conversation with him about literature, mathematics, art, aesthetics, science… women that wouldn’t judge him for who and what he was… women with a heart of fire… Again, his eyes were drawn to the flames, and his hand tightened just a little around his manhood as his strokes became more urgent along with his voice rising above a whisper into a muted groan of the name of the woman whose naked body now danced in the flames, enticing him, alluring him - the thought that he’d see it the next time he spoke to her was distant in the haze of sexual frustration and pent-up desire that flooded him. “Deeeellyuuuuhhh…”

 

Delia Conagher wasn’t proud of herself at all as she turned her back on the fire she had started. It gratified a need for calmth and control within her, sure, but it wasn’t just the smoke that made her eyes prickle. She’d spent _years_ of her life suppressing the urge to set fires, to watch flames consume their fuel. Years she’d spent honing the skill of distracting herself, of getting more clever to cover up the telltale signs… a hand that got burnt while setting an unusually large blaze had been covered by a work glove; her fuel became more efficent, her blazes easier to control; she made her own impulse control medication, away from the team’s medic and her gossipy medbay, and the urge sank back each time. Each time, it took a little longer for the need to start another fire to rear up its ugly head. She’d gotten good.

Sadly, she hadn’t gotten _perfect_ , not yet. She still needed to light fires about once or twice a month, though it was a far cry from when she’d attended the Engineering School at age sixteen and she’d started small fires nightly, sometimes twice a night.

As she watched the smoke swirl around her, Delia groaned, wondering whether she could make it to base fast enough to merit tossing her nightgown into the fire. It’d reek of smoke, which would betray her… or, of course, she mused a second later, she could also _launder_ it. ‘Stop thinkin’ fire’s the answer tuh ev’ry damn problem yew have, Delly...’, she berated herself.

Then, something or someone echoed her nickname, and she froze, looking around. Her heart skipped a few beats in instant fear. Someone was there, someone had seen her… someone _knew her secret!_ Who could it be? If it was Tashya, or Hildegard, or Jane… the three women were the biggest blabbermouths on the base: if they knew, _everyone_ would know before the next night was good and started! Quietly, she looked around for where the sound could have come from - but that was rendered redundant as she heard the scrape of a boot over the rocky soil from a cluster of rocks that she normally would’ve passed when heading back to the base. On tiptoes, she moved towards it, sneaking around it, her ears tuned in to the sound of slightly heaving breaths issuing from behind it - and then, she rounded the rest of the way.

“Now whut in Sam-hill yew thi-”

“ _S-sheeeee-!_ ” It was Ash, who hastily covered himself up, but Delia had seen enough. The split second of surprise was enough for her sharp mind to have taken note his eyes, fixated on the fire, the feverish glow in them like a tiny mirror image of the blaze, and the ungentle motions of his hand on himself in an equally feverish and almost desperate bid for release - just as the way he avoided her eyes obvious enough. There was no disgust in his posture, no judgment in his rapid breaths as he stood with his back towards the fire and towards _her_ , wavering between turning back and running away.

“Pahro… w-why’re yew-”

“Nuuu, dun ask, Dellyuh!”, he stammered. He turned to her and instantly flushed with color that was only partially due to the fire: his eyes first leapt to the fire and he suppressed a groan - meaning he’d gotten off on it before, as she suspected.

“Pahro… Ash… we’re friends, ain’t we? Ah mean, ah _know_ yew - know about yer pills, yer ma, yer drinkin’... the reason why y’love fightin’ an’ killin’ th’other team so much… an’ ah told _yew_ ‘bout John an’ whut happened ‘tween us… ‘bout how bad ah want a li’l one…”

“Yehh b-but… but… ‘s diff’runt… but you… didn’t tell m’all too…” His words were out of sync with his breathing, which had risen again, but there was an accusation in it that cut Delia’s soul and made her heart smart. Mika had been right before - these weren’t just her colleagues, these were her _friends_. Especially Ash, the pyro, who was even more of a lost soul than herself. Sighing, she nodded.

“Yeh’re right, Ash, an’ that’s a mighty shame. Ah should’a trusted yew. Ah… set fires. Been doin’ it ever since ah were sixteen. Been awright most times - small fires, candles, hearthfires, y’know, an’ campfires fer playin’ mah guitar by - but sometimes it… _weren’t_ awright an’-” A low, throaty moan from her friend distracted her from her own story and caused her to focus again on his. “...So, uh, fire makes yeh... need t’scratch tha’ there itch y’got-”

“‘s more ‘n an itch, Dellyuh, ‘s _bad_ … ‘s not right tuh… _oh fuuuuhhh…_ ” He turned his eyes away from the fire itself, to her - and then, he did what she _didn’t_ expect and looked at the ground.

“...Ash, ‘s somethin’ wrong, pardner?”

“N-nuuuh, dun ask… please, Delly? Oh fuuuuck, need… need tuh…” It was a testament to just how comfortable he felt around her, she supposed - and it was a testament to his previous moan…

His first moan. That had been her name. He’d moaned her name. That had to mean…

“Ash, y’were… when y’were, uh, workin’ things out there… tha’ there fire weren’t _all_ that were on yer mind, was it now?”, she asked delicately, and Ash groaned in frustration.

“Du-dun say it like that, Dellyuh, ‘s _wrong_ , wrong, wrong ‘f me… uhhhn… s-should ju-jus’ go back tuh base… sl-sleep ‘t off-” Ash’s deep, heart-wrenching sigh had Delia consider her options. Watching the fire had made her calm again, even somewhat _giddy_ \- that could be the impulse control medication, it was somewhat similar to Ash’ drugs - and seeing her friend stand before her now, his flameproof suit zipped open and leaving little about him to the imagination… well, he didn’t look exactly _stunningly handsome_ but frustration was a given at a base with eight women and one man that barely spoke or interacted with the bunch. And here he was, her friend, having basically admitted to fantasizing about her while getting himself off.

“Ain’t gonna work, ah think, Ash. An’ it seems like a waste ‘f some good fire.” She stepped closer to him and leaned against him, his unsubtle shudder making her own pulse race at the prospect of what she was about to do, what she was about to suggest to her best friend. “...Look, maybe we oughta… help each other a li’l here…”, she whispered, and he looked her over.

“D-dellyuh? Help h-how?” Then, licking his lips and looking her over - not bothering to hide the hunger in his eyes anymore, she noticed, which was enough to make _her_ shudder softly - he added: “Y-yuu want… meh?”

“Ah don’t see no one else out ‘ere, d’yew? An’ it’s only right, Ash - we know each other, know each an’ every last secret ‘bout each other. ...Even the fiery ones…”

“‘s-specially tuh fiery ones…”, Ash said, nodding softly before moving his bare hands over her shoulders. They felt warm on her cool skin, she found, which promoted a grateful smile from her. “...mmhkay… b-but… but ‘s only this, ‘n now… ‘n maybe next time… yeh need a fire… uhh fuuuuck… D-dellyuh, ‘m _huurtin’_...”, he said, and she nodded.

“Ah know, ah know, but don’t yeh worry, ah got somethin’ fer yew, somethin’ that’ll git all’a that pent up need _satisfied_ …”, she admitted, pressing gently on his shoulders to show that he should sit down - once he did, she kneeled next to him, kissing his neck and provoking a slightly louder moan from him.

“Uuuunnhhhh, Dellyuuuuh… fuck yuuuuuussssshhhh…” She idly stroked the front of his boxers, but he turned her light touch into a more insistent one by grinding himself up against her hand, causing her to get a very good feel of him. He had nothing to be ashamed of - not that she hadn’t seen him before, of course, and not that she hadn’t looked with interest at him before. In fact, if she was completely honest, some of the nights which had been lonely and where she’d chosen physical release as a distractant, he’d featured instead of one of her ex-lovers. And he’d never failed to satisfy her... However, her train of thoughts was rudely interrupted by Ash’s hand snaking its way underneath her nightgown and into her panties, his fingers dipping inside of her to reveal how shamefully wet she’d gotten at the mere thought of him and their impending unison. “Ahhh, Delly… s-so eager… _ahh fuuuuuuhhhh,_ y-yuh want meh bad…” His fingers drove into her slowly, disappearing into her until the knuckle, and the engineer found she had to bite her lip in order to keep from moaning, though she spread her legs a little further apart to allow him better access. He was _good_ with those scarred hands of his, so good… how had she not invited him to bed her before?

“Awh, Ash… d’yew got any idea… h-how- _ahh! Ah, yeah, sugar…_ y’ain’t know how many times ah… thought’a yew, w-when the nights git lonely… f-fuck, yer fingers are _amazin’_...”, she ground out, very shallowly rolling her hips into his touches, pressing his thumb against her outer genitalia, meaning to get him to use that last finger as well while she kissed down his bare chest and her hand dipped into his boxershorts to gently stroke him. Or, at least, that was the plan, because the second her hand closed around his length, he plainly rode it, his eyes flitting between the fire behind her and her.

“D-dellyuh… oh Delly… ‘m gonna… gonna take yuh… _f-fuck yuh_ … y’want me tuh, riiiight?”, he moaned out, spurred by the fire and by her ministrations. She didn’t answer, instead kissing his stomach and using her free hand to hastily pull her panties out of the way while not disturbing his hand which was now liberally drenched in her fluids. “Mmmh… y’want me tuh… y’don’t have t’say ‘yus’, ‘m feelin’ yuh… f-fingers ‘re right up insiiide yuh, Delly… y’want more than m’fingers… _oh, Dellyuh,_ w-wanna hear yeh _plead_ fer me t’-t’fill yuh… p-plead now…”

“Ash, sugar, please… ahh, ah _Gawd_ , _Christ almighty…!_ ”, Delia found herself gasping out as he started to plainly fuck her with three of his fingers, disappearing into her nethers fast and hard and _marvellously deep_ \- those long pianist’s fingers made her _ache_ for the real thing, for his length to sink inside her and fulfill her… and before she knew it, she _was_ pleading with all her energy and all her heart. “P-please, Ash, _gawd, p-please, uhhh, j-jus’ fuck me, jus’ take me…_ C-christ, ah need yeh somethin’ fierce-”

“N-need yuh too, Delly, hunny… ahhh fuck… r-ride me? G-get up on me… ‘m fuckin’ yeh like that…” He didn’t need too much exhortation: his sweaty body shivering, his eyes fastened on hers and looking beyond the reflection of the fire, looking _into_ her, all of him gave Delia the motivation to get up, his fingers following her path and continuing their invasion of her even as she stepped out of her panties. The only moment when they left her was right before she sat on top of him, embedding his length halfway inside her with a satisfied groan - and that groan turned into a near-extatic howl when he thrust the rest of the way up, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“Oh, _Aaaash!_ ”

“Ahh, Dellyuhhnnn… m-my Deeeeeeeliaaaaah…” It was the first time he’d pronounced her name exactly right - _better_ than anyone else ever saying or moaning her name, she found - but it fell away against the greater blaze he inspired inside of her. His hips rose and fell to meet her as she rode him, panting in the cold night’s air. His scarred right hand migrated from her hip up her nightgown, roughly squeezing her breast. “G-gahd… yuh’re so good… ahh, _‘m aaaachin’_ fer you…”

“Oh, _Lord almighty_ , Ash… Gawd, yeh’re such a fireball…” He shuddered - how could he _not_ , when she’d basically compared him to the essence of his arousal? When she’d reminded him of the inferno lighting them on as they roughly satisfied their physical needs? - and moaned loudly.

“D- _dellyuh, f-fuuck-!_ ” In the blink of an eye, he’d pushed her off and had pushed himself up off the ground, kneeling behind her and pushing her forward on her hands and knees before invading her again, and Delia gasped.

“ _Ahh lord!_ A-ash, ahhh sugar, go fer it, make me scream fer yew baby…” It wasn’t exactly scream, what she did a second later, when he nearly pulled out of her only to slam back into her full force, filling her completely, the friction of them meshing together hitting _every_ sweet spot on her nethers; but it was close enough to a scream for him to grunt and respond.

“Y-yuuuus… Delly, ‘ngel... f-fu-uhnnnn… Gahd, y’so good… f-fuck… _too good_ … too hot, Lord, _mercyyyy… D-Dellyuhhh… t-tell me yeh luv-_ ”

“Ohh, Ash, baby, da- _ahhhh!_ -lin’... s-sugar… ah love yew, sugar… ah love this, oh _gawd_ I love yew fuckin’ me, an’ I luv yew, baby, ah love yew… _C-chriiiiist, Ash!_ ”, she gasped out when he pulled out of her yet again and gently prodded her into turning around to lay on the cold stone beneath them, covering her body with his as soon as she did, thrusting slowly but deeply into her and looking first at the fire before moaning lowly and looking at her and speaking to her in a low, shy, but nevertheless seductive whisper that had her hands tingle.

“...been luvin’ yeh so long, Delly, s-shugah… b-but tonight… seein’ you lit that fire… ahh, gawd, y’my dream woman, h-hunny… y’set _me_ on fire too… oh _gahd…_ ”

“T-take me, Ashey, sugar… _m-make me yours, make me all yours, m-make us whooole_ …”, Delia whispered in the quiet between them, gasping as the pyro sped up again - not to the furious rhythm he’d maintained before, but just enough to bring them both to a sizzling end, which prompted her to groan and arch her back before adding: “ _Oh Ash,_ y-you’re so hot, so _good… b-burn yer imprint inside’a me-_ ”

When they came together, he cried out her name loud enough to wake up the entire base if they weren’t three miles out, and he never took his eyes off her. His expressive, mournful eyes filled with light and wonder and while their bodies shivered and swayed together, their hearts gave just a little. All too soon, however, the cold of the night returned, and Ash sighed as he looked at the shed again, which had by now burnt itself out, Delia noticed.

“...Dellyuh… ‘m so-sorry…”, he said, to which she reacted with a soft shake of her head.

“Y’don’t got nuthin’ to be sorry ‘bout, Ash, dahlin’. ...So yew got somethin’ yeh need tellin’ me, huh?”, she said softly, and he blushed, looking at his hands and idly running his tongue over the tips of the fingers he’d used to pleasure her before before realizing what he was doing and blushing even more. Smiling, she took his hand gently in hers and spoke up again: “Yeh’re a li’l shy again, huh? ‘s Okay, ah’ll go first. Ash, ah ain’t lied, yeh’re a fine man an’ yeh’re a sweetheart. We’re colleagues, a’course, an’ we’re also friends, sure, but ah… sometimes, ah hope there’s _more_ ‘n that. An’ now… with’cher li’l thang with fire, an’ my li’l thing with fire… seems a li’l too, uh, _convenient_ , fer lack ‘f a better term. ...Before, y’said yew loved me fer a long time already - was that true, or were that the _fire_ in yew talkin’?”

“I-it… true, sure… De-dellyuh, you mean it? Y’luv me? Y’want me?”, the pyro asked, blushing deeply again as he added: “E-even if ‘m _w-wrong_?”

“Ash, sugar…”, she said, wrapping an arm around him, smiling and kissing him on the cheek before continuing in a conspiratory whisper: “Y’ain’t any more ‘wrong’ ‘n ah am.” He grinned and sniffed her hair before straightening his boxershorts and then handing her her panties back, which lay on one of the rocks beside where they’d indulged themselves. There were a few minor scrapes on her arms and knees from when she’d hastily scrambled into the right position before, but they were nothing compared to the glow inside of her of combined physical and emotional satisfaction. “...So, we prob’ly oughta head back intuh base, right?”, she asked, to which her lover only answered with a nod. “Yew in yer bed an’ me in mine?”

“...If y’ want sleep t’night, Dellyuh, ‘s best. If y’don’t… yeh smell like smoke… ‘s drivin’ meh crazy again bein’ close to yuh…”, he said, fidgeting a little, and Delia grinned.

“Reckon ah oughta wash mah nightgown then, huh? An’ take a li’l shower ‘fore breakfast t’morrah. Wouldn’t want yeh achin’ over yer bowl’a Happy-Os. If’n th’others notice that, they’ll think yeh git off on breakfast cereals…” Ash grinned and chuckled along with her for a second before once again inhaling deeply and then shaking his head.

“...think th’others gunna believe we’re both sick in th’mornin’?”

“...Maybe…”, Delia said, grinning when the pyro wrapped an arm around her waist and sniffed her nightgown again before pulling her along back towards the base. If she was entirely honest, the thought of a repeat performance in the security of his bed, or hers, wasn’t altogether unwelcome, even if their flimsy excuse of illness wouldn’t get them excused from battle at all the next morning. She was compelled to start fires, and the flames that danced in Ash’s heart, the flames that had consumed the both of them, was by far the most addictive blaze she’d started to date.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my birthday gift to myself - figured that I at least should get one Texas Toast story to celebrate my 30th.
> 
> (For those of you that still read this, there's a special surprise at the end of 'Strings' as well that ties in with this story!)


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